e was regarded by the Government of his day as "a factious
person." His great friendship with his neighbour, Robert Baillie of
Jerviswoode, in no way increased the favour with which either of those
good men was regarded in high places. Jerviswoode and Home were
"suspects," and being known as close allies, where one was supposed to
be plotting, the other was always expected to be at his back.

To be the eldest of so large a brood must have been a sobering thing for
any little girl, but Grisell shouldered her responsibilities with a
happy heart, and united with that happy, child-like heart the wisdom and
discretion of a woman. She was only twelve when she was chosen as
messenger from her father to his friend Mr. Baillie, who was then in
prison in Edinburgh. Over lonely Soutra Hill (where highway robbery and
murder were things not unknown), it was no easy or pleasant ride from
Marchmont to the Port of Edinburgh; and here the bleaching skulls of
martyred covenanters gave to those who entered the town grim warning of
the risks of nonconformity. Doubtless little Grisell had been provided
by her parents with a suitable escort, but, even so, her heart must have
beat faster as she went up the High Street to where the "Heart of
Midlothian" then stood, and asked to see Mr. Robert Baillie, her
father's friend. The bright-eyed, slim little maid, with her chestnut
hair and exquisite complexion, must have been as unexpected a sight in
that gloomy place as a wild rose in a desert. None could suspect her of
meddling with affairs of State, or of tampering with the prisoners of
his gracious Majesty. Thus Grisell Home was able successfully to carry a
letter of advice and information, and to bring back to her father in the
Merse tidings of a blameless martyr.

With his father in prison that day was Baillie's son, George, a boy one
year older than Grisell. He had been, as were many of the well-born lads
of his time, at his studies in Holland, reading law, when his father was
put in prison, but hastened home on hearing the news. Boys wore swords,
and not Eton jackets, in George Baillie's day. He had, as his daughter
afterwards wrote of him, "a rough, manly countenance"; and from that day
until the day of her death that face, which she knew first as a boy's,
was more beautiful to Grisell Home than any other face on earth. Several
times afterwards was Grisell sent as bearer of important letters from
her father to him whose son, in days still lo